


Transatlanticism

by bettysdryer



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:39:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettysdryer/pseuds/bettysdryer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been a month since A.R. had set voyage for Scotland – well, four weeks and two days if you wanted to get all technical about it – and Charlie was being driven out of his skull by his... <i>needs</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transatlanticism

**Author's Note:**

> Deepest apologies for any anachronisms.

Charlie “Lucky” Luciano had thrown away about a dozen or so pieces of paper in the past twenty minutes. He'd gone through three fountain pens, six stamps and envelopes, and around fifty or so more papers in the past hour. Nothing he was writing was – well, coming out right. Coming out _correctly_ , he thought to himself, and ran his hand through his hair, leaning back in his seat. A.R. made writing letters look so _easy_ ; he'd figured it couldn't be too hard to just ask simple questions, like “How's Scotland?”, and “Weather treating you nice?”, and “When are you coming back so we can fuck like jackrabbits again?”

It had been a month since A.R. had set voyage for Scotland – well, four weeks and two days if you wanted to get all technical about it – and Charlie was being driven out of his skull by his... _needs_. Needs that, for the past couple of years, had been filled by one Arnold Rothstein, his mentor and employer. And also, briefly, by a certain burlesque dancer whose name need not be mentioned.

Anyway, it had been a whole month, and he had tried and tried again with other broads, but it still just would not work, and it was... frustrating. To say the least.

Charlie leaned forward again, his pen scratching the surface of the parchment.

_A.R. –_

_Greetings from NY. The weather is terrible. I'm sure it is where you are too. I saw in the paper the other day that Glasgow is having one of its worst winters yet. Hope you brought a lot of coats with you._

“Hope you brought a lot of coats with you”? What the fuck? This was one of the stupidest letters he'd written yet. He crumpled it up and started over.

_A.R. –_

_Greetings from NY. I saw something in the paper about Scotland and wondered how you was._

No. That sounded too queer. He crossed that out and wrote instead:

_I saw something in the paper about Scotland and figured I ought to check in._

Yeah, much better. He continued –

_How are you and Carolyn? I'm doing alright. It keeps snowing. It reminds me of that one time last year when we got snowed in and had to come up with other things to do._

Charlie smirked at the memory. It was three in the morning, everyone had left, and there was absolutely no way out of the house. It was one of the worst blizzards in years, and the snow pounded against the windows as A.R. lit the fireplace and the two of them fucked right on the carpet. They both had rug burns for a week. 

_Anyways, not much else is going on. Looks like you're not gonna be indited, so everything is going well I guess. Me and Meyer was wondering when you'd be heading back. Unless you're too busy golfing._

He crossed out the last sentence.

_I hope you're enjoying your trip._

Charlie paused, gripping the pen tight between his fingers. He bit his lip and hastily scrawled –

_I miss you. It's boring as hell without you here. I mean, Meyer's my best pal and all, but it's just not the same, you know? For a lot of reasons, some of which you can guess. I visited your house a few times to take care of some business and it was strange not seeing you in the billiards room, bent over the table, gripping your cue stick, shooting the balls clean into the holes._

_And if you're wondering, still no luck with the broads._

He threw his pen down, his heart thumping in his chest. There was no way he could send this, it was too – too –

 _Oh, fucking forget it, you pussy fuck._ He kept writing.

_So as you can see, we are all anxious for you to come back home. Myself especially. Write back if you can._

_-Charlie_

Charlie took a deep breath, then quickly – before he lost his nerve – folded the letter, stuck it in the envelope, sealed it, licked the stamp and slapped it on, ran out the door, down the street to the post office, threw the letter into the slot –

And immediately wanted to shoot himself in the face.

 _Would you relax?_ , he told himself, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he scurried back home, his breath misty and snow melting in his shoes. _It's not like you got a reason to be shy. Like some idiot schoolgirl who likes her teacher or somethin'. Ain't like he doesn't know, or like we never fucked or anything. You're being stupid. Have a drink and calm down._

He shut the door behind him and rubbed his hands together, then loosened his tie and walked towards the bar, where he poured himself a fifth of whiskey. 

What was done was done. Now he just had to wait.

* * *

“Charlie, you absolutely, you _must_ see _The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari_ ,” Meyer was saying three weeks later as the two of them rounded the corner.

“Eh, I dunno. I'm not much of one for those foreign language flicks,” said Charlie, shaking some snow off of the bottom of his coat as they reached his house.

“Neither am I, but I finally saw it at the recommendation of a friend. You know the theater down on Lexington? They're showing it all this week and – Charlie?”

Charlie didn't respond. There was an envelope at the door. Its return address was from Scotland.

“Is that a letter from A.R.?” Meyer asked as Charlie grabbed it.

“Yeah...” he said, staring at his name written neatly on the right-hand side. “Listen, I'll catch up with you later, alright?”

“Okay. But don't forget, we got that meeting tomorrow with those fellas.”

“Sure, sure,” Charlie said absently, vaguely waving goodbye, not looking up. He felt the envelope between his fingers. Smooth and rough at the same time, somehow.

After getting safely nestled inside, and after sitting in his favorite armchair – the velvet one, with the gold edges – he carefully opened the envelope with his letter slicer.

_Dear Charlie,_

_It's very pleasant to hear from you. I must confess, it's quite lonely here; much lonelier than I had anticipated. You won't be surprised to hear that our weather is just as awful as yours has been. How serendipitous that we are both at the receiving end of snowstorms._

_I'm not entirely sure when Carolyn (who is well, by the way) and myself will be returning home, but hopefully it will be before the beginning of February. I very much miss the streets, sounds, and smells of New York. And you, as well._

_Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, I can say that we have shared similar thoughts regarding certain blizzards and certain hot evenings spent in the billiards room. While I am sorry that there is no special young lady in your life, perhaps, for the present, you can soothe yourself with the knowledge that as soon as I arrive home, and at your earliest convenience, we will meet, and I will ravage you mercilessly. My bedroom, your bedroom, bent over the poker table, wherever and however you want. Maybe this will bring you pleasure when you are alone in your room and in need of something to stimulate your imagination._

_I look forward to seeing you again, Charlie. Give my best to Lansky and the rest._

_Yours,  
Arnold Rothstein_

_P.S. It's “Meyer and I were wondering”, not “Me and Meyer was wondering”._

Of course he had to ruin the mood with a grammar correction, but Charlie smiled lecherously to himself anyway.

_A.R. –_

_I'm glad to hear you're doing okay. Meyer sends his regards too._

(So what if he hadn't even said anything to Meyer yet?)

_Thanks for the grammar correction. Now, about your proposal vis a vee your return to NY, I definitely hope its soon cause I'm not sure how long that scenario will hold me out. But I can probably think of some other ones._

_Like_

Oh, shit. Now he had to actually think of something.

_Like_

Charlie blinked at the blank piece of paper. Shit. How the hell was it that he could walk around thinking about sex for 75% of his day, and now was the time that he would get that – that – whadda they call it – writer's block?

_Like_

Maybe he could start off with a previous encounter.

_Like that time we had a car full of people waiting outside for us, but while they was waiting and waiting, we sucked each other off in the poker room and everyone was getting impatient but that made it better somehow and I accidentally got come all over the_

Charlie shook his head and crossed it out. Not sexy enough. He held the pen between his lips and thought.

_When you get back, I want you in the billiards room, with people waiting outside, and I wanna be fucked hard by you, so hard I'll be limping for the rest of the day and I'll feel all raw and filled. And then I'll suck your cock, slow, just how you like it._

He was getting a little hard just thinking about it, and he didn't want to waste it, so he quickly finished with –

_Let me know when you are getting back for sure._

_-Charlie_

* * *

It was March, and there was still no sign of A.R. – no more letters, no more nothing. Charlie couldn't help but be disappointed. Whenever he saw a letter in his mailbox his heart would leap, only to quickly become deflated when it was just another electric bill. 

“What did A.R. say in that letter he sent you ages ago?” Meyer was asking. The two of them were waiting for the car to come around to drop them off somewhere.

“Nothin', really. Just that Scotland is alright and he didn't know when he was coming back.”

“Christ, it's been, what? Four months now?”

“Eighteen weeks, four days, and twelve hours.”

Meyer stared at him.

Charlie cleared his throat. “So, uh, where was it we're goin', again?”

“I got a telegram from A.R.'s lawyer,” Meyer said as the car pulled up in front of them. “Some papers we gotta sign? I dunno, but we're going to the house now.”

“Why the house?” Charlie asked. He opened the door and let Meyer climb in first. “Why not the lawyer's office?”

“I dunno. I just do what they tell me,” he said, shrugging.

Charlie held back a sigh as the car lurched forward onto the cobblestone street. He smoothed out his trousers and tapped his foot, staring out the window at the passing buildings and fashionable young couples.

Before long, they had arrived, the doorman taking their coats and leading them up the familiar marble staircase.

They were about to pass the billiards room when the doorman suddenly stopped.

“Here we are, gentlemen,” he said.

“Thanks,” said Charlie gruffly, wondering why the lawyer was meeting them in this room, when he stopped dead in his tracks.

A.R. was back.

He was chalking the tip of his cue stick, while his lawyer poured himself a drink from the bar. At first he didn't seem to notice them standing there, but their eyes met and A.R. smiled.

“Boys!” he exclaimed, his smile turning into a wide grin. 

“A.R.,” Charlie said, and felt a smirk overtake his face.

“Nice to see you again, boss!” Meyer walked up to him and shook his hand. “Why didn't you tell us you got back?”

“Oh, I thought I'd surprise the two of you,” he said, not looking away from Charlie. “Everything been okay in my absence?”

“Yeah,” said Charlie, unable to keep a bit of sarcasm from creeping into his voice. “It's been terrific.”

“Me and Charlie have been making some headway into the liquor business,” Meyer added.

“Have you now?” A.R.'s gaze was still locked on Charlie, who squirmed a little at the scrutiny. “Striking out on your own, are you? Good job, boys.”

“What – uh, what was it you wanted us to sign?” He broke eye contact with A.R. and looked over at the lawyer, who was leaning casually by the window.

“Oh, I was actually mistaken about that. Sorry for the confusion.” The lawyer glanced over at A.R. and swung down the rest of his drink. “Well, I'm off. Important clients and all. Nice catching up with you, Arnold.”

“Same.”

The door closed slightly in the lawyer's wake, and A.R. strode to the other side of the billiards table, getting ready for a shot. Charlie couldn't resist sneaking a quick peek at A.R.'s ass.

“How was Glasgow?” Meyer asked.

“It was fine, just fine.” He lightly tapped the ball and a nine ball fell gently into the adjacent hole. “Horrible weather, just like you both warned me. No golfing whatsoever.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Charlie said. “Why'd you stay so long, then?” His fingers were curled into a slight fist.

“Carolyn was enjoying herself,” he said, walking over to the opposite side. “And I had some business to attend to there, so it wasn't a complete waste of my time.”

“Still, though... eighteen weeks...” Charlie felt Meyer give him an odd look.

A.R. looked up at him and smiled. “Eighteen weeks, was it? Certainly felt like a lot longer.” He reared back his arm and sunk four balls.

“Nice one,” said Meyer.

“Meyer...” A.R. stood up and turned to face him. “Could you give us a few minutes?”

“Sure, boss.” Meyer glanced at Charlie before leaving, the door clicking shut behind him.

The two of them stared at each other in silence for several moments, before A.R. asked, “How have you been, Charlie?”

“Is there a reason you never wrote me back or what?” Charlie said before he could stop himself.

This seemed to give him pause. “I didn't see any reason to. All that there was to be said... had been said.”

Charlie snorted and leaned against the doorframe.

“Charlie.”

“What?”

“Lock the door.”

The air seemed to become heavy around them, and he felt his back straighten. “Come again?”

“Lock. The. Door.” 

He felt everything shift, and an intense tingling of anticipation was prickling across his skin as he turned the key.

A.R. placed the cue stick carefully back on the rack. “You said, Charlie, in your letter, you wanted me to – what was it – 'fuck you so hard you'd be limping the rest of the day'?” He undid his bow tie. “A vulgar way to put it, to be sure. But the message was loud – ” he unbuttoned his vest “ – and clear.”

Charlie was practically bursting with want as A.R. began taking off his collar. He couldn't move from where he was standing.

“I know we have our unspoken rules, Charlie,” he said, walking over to him. “I hope you don't mind if I break a few of them.”

Before Charlie knew what was happening, A.R. was pressed against him – _kissing_ him – he had never – it wasn't part of – but Charlie soon forgot all of this as their tongues intertwined, A.R.'s hands stroking his neck, his trousers tight and he could feel A.R.'s hardness too, breathing and sweating and he had never kissed another guy before, it was bizarre, but hell, they had done everything else and holy shit it felt so good, _so good_ , and A.R. was unbuckling both of their belts and shoving him against the billiards table, his mouth practically swallowing Charlie's whole.

Charlie gasped for air as his pants were yanked down, and A.R. grabbed his cock, whispering in his ear, “How badly did you want this while I was gone?”, his breath hot, making Charlie shiver.

“You know how bad I wanted it,” he murmured, and that seemed to turn A.R. on even more as he yanked on his hair and kissed him again. Charlie gripped onto A.R.'s back as they ground against each other, until finally A.R. turned him around and slammed him against the table.

Charlie groaned as his trousers were pulled down unceremoniously around his ankles. He felt A.R.'s lips against his neck as his cock twitched and his undergarments pulled down as well. Every inch of him felt the need so badly, so badly, and he almost let out a shout as A.R.'s finger entered him. 

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

“Hello? Are you guys still in there?” he heard Meyer's voice say from outside.

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” said Charlie.

“Yes, we're still in here, Meyer,” A.R. called. 

“I swear to God, if he tries to get in here – ”

“Calm down,” A.R. whispered, stroking his back.

“It's just... I have places to be...” Meyer was saying.

“Just GO!” Charlie yelled. “For Christ's sake!”

“Charlie...” A.R. said.

“I would, but how are you getting home?”

“Just – don't worry 'bout it, okay? Just go!”

“But – ”

“JUST. GO.”

“Okay, fine.” There was some muttering outside, but he could hear footsteps walking away, which made him sigh in relief.

“Biggest cockblock in the world, that guy,” he said.

A.R. chuckled. “He's gone. It's fine.” 

They continued as though they had not been interrupted, Charlie hard as a fucking rock (oh, it was so good, to feel this way again) as A.R. thrust against him, inside him, rapid movements and shaking and everything was just fucking perfect and fucking and fucking and _fucking_ until A.R. came and Charlie came and it was all over. 

They both stood there for a little while, breathing heavily, cold sweat and Charlie's hands and muscles were shaking. They stared at each other, eyes heavy with lust.

“You don't need to put your mouth on me,” A.R. finally said. “That was good enough for now.” He paused. “But I do expect you to, next time.”

Charlie grinned. “Good to have you back, boss.”

“It's good to be back, Charlie.”


End file.
